She hastily restored the letter to its shelf. Next, she found a document outlining Mr. Ellis’s agreement to pay for the room, board, and education of several children. The gossips said that he’d fathered illegitimate children by several different women.
Damning, but not grounds for denying his claim to the dukedom.
She searched his dresser drawers, blushing as she touched his undergarments.
A rifling through the pockets of the coats hanging in the wardrobe yielded several calling cards for merchants, and a receipt for a daily delivery of fresh kippers, most likely for the cat. He was spoiling her, it seemed.
There was a bawdy illustrated book under his bed pillow of the sort that her friend Lady Beatrice had several copies of in a locked bookshelf at their lady’s clubhouse on the Strand, which used to be the premises of a scandalous bookshop.
Frustrated, she glanced around the room. What was she missing?
There was a stack of books piled on the nightstand. She read through the titles: Debrett’s Peerage of England, Scotland, and Ireland; an etiquette guide to the titles and forms of address of the British aristocracy; and a history of English country estates. One of the pages of the history book was marked with a strip of silk, and she opened it to a description of the gardens at Rosehill Park.
She added it all up. Peerage. Forms of address. Country estates. This wasn’t pleasure reading.
He’d been doing research for a hostile takeover.
The Debrett’s was to research the branch of their family that he intended to infiltrate, and the history of country estates was to learn about his target: Rosehill Park.
Separately these books meant nothing, but taken together, it was a logical assumption to make that he’d been studying her family history, preparing for the game he’d set into motion at the ball. But she needed more than assumption.
The cat roused itself and picked its way daintily across the floor to rub up against her ankle.
“Where does your owner hide his legal documents?” she asked the cat.
Do you have any kippers? If not, I’d settle for another belly scratch, the cat replied.
Another sweep of the rooms revealed nothing more of interest. Either he had a secret hiding place for his important documents, they were hidden in the general disorder of the room, or he didn’t keep them here, but at the gaming hell.
There must be something incriminating in his rooms.
And she must find it. Swiftly. He was due to return in less than an hour.
Ash stopped by the boarding house on his way to the boxing club. He liked to visit the children from time to time, to see how they were getting on with their schooling.
The house always gave him a quiet sense of accomplishment—of having done something to balance the scales against his past misdeeds.
The children were all orphans, like Ash and Jax. They were the ones who wouldn’t have survived the harsh conditions of the bottling factory. He couldn’t rescue them all, but he’d done what he could.
Mrs. Badger, the housekeeper, kept the house neat and shipshape, the brass handle polished, and the steps scrubbed clean.
The children were at their lessons—he could see their heads bowed over schoolbooks through the window—but two of the lads were playing in the garden when he let himself through the gate with his key.
“Mr. Ellis,” cried Max, dropping his hoop and stick and running toward him. Young Harvey lagged behind. He walked with a pronounced limp, having mangled his foot in the machinery at the bottling factory.
“Good day, boys. And what sort of trouble have you been getting up to?”
“No trouble, Mr. Ellis,” said Max. He was a bright lad with an aptitude for maths. “But I don’t like having to memorize poetry. Don’t see the point. Too many fluffy clouds and daffodils.”
Ash laughed and ruffled his hair. “Girls like poetry. It may seem useless now, but in a few years, you’ll be able to dredge up some pretty phrases and impress the fairer sex.”
“Ew. Don’t want to impress any girls.”
“And how are you, Harvey?” Ash asked.
The delicate boy had taken ill after the accident at the factory and nearly died. “I’m doing well, Mr. Ellis. I’m reading a new adventure story.”
Ash had been a reader when he was younger. He’d soon learned to hide his bookish ways from the older boys at the factory, for fear of the bullies with bigger fists than his.
He hoped Harvey would be able to read in peace here.
“I brought you more books,” he said. “And sweets. But you have to promise to share them with all of the children.”
“We will,” they said in unison, holding out their hands.
Ash smiled and distributed the presents he’d brought.
“How’s Tobias’s cough?” he asked.
“He’s better. But isn’t he at your house, sir?” Max asked, his nose scrunching up.
“Why would he be?”
The boys exchanged worried glances. “He told Mrs. Badger that you asked him to come and train as your valet. He left days ago in a hansom cab with a man that had a gold tooth and wore a beaver hat with a playing card stuck through the band.”
Icy fingers trailed along Ash’s spine.
John Coakley had had a gold tooth. And he’d worn a card through his hatband. The King of Diamonds.
Coakley is dead. I saw him die.
Ash dropped to one knee, at eye level with the boys. “I never sent for Toby. I’m afraid that man might have taken him. Did Toby look frightened?”
“No, he was quite proud. He had a new gold watch and was showing it all around,” Harvey said.
Dread gripped Ash by the throat. He fingered the gold watch in his pocket.
The trinket Coakley had used to lure him, and Jax, away from the factory. He kept it as a talisman, a reminder of his dark and troubled past. A reminder of the trusting boy he’d been and the cold, jaded man he’d become.
“Boys, listen to me. I’m going to find Toby, don’t worry. And if anyone offers you money or trinkets to go with them, you know what I’ve warned you about. It’s a trick. It’s best to stay in school, to learn your lessons. Even the poetry, Max. If you see that man again, the one with the gold tooth, I want you to immediately send word to me. Don’t talk to him. Run away. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Ellis.”
“Now go inside and share your treats. I’m due at the boxing club.”
“I’m going to be a famous pugilist when I grow up!” said Max.
Ash had rather been hoping he might become an accountant’s clerk.
He left with a heavy heart. Toby was his favorite, a likely lad with a quick mind and a good heart.
Ash feared the worst. Toby had been recruited. Lured into a life of crime with promises of riches and freedom.
You’ll only work six hours a day, lads. Them wealthy coves won’t miss their pocket watches. They have ten more for any you take. You’ll feast on roast meat every night. Sleep by a roaring fire. The offer I’m making you, boys, it don’t come along more than once.
Ash would search for Toby tonight, under cover of darkness. He’d bring his barman, Gus, and a loaded pistol. He was well aware of the dangers lurking in Seven Dials. He fancied staying alive long enough to make his case to the duke and his solicitor.